Cuddled up in bed one night we talked about the wildest things we’d done before we met. He’d had a threesome with his ex and a mutual friend. He described the scene as he left his friend to take his ex…more of a sharing and possession thing. He didn’t stay to watch.
My only threesome experience had been a little surreal. The man I was with asked me one evening if I would be interested in the experience. Whether it was the wine talking or some deep desire to try I don’t know…but I agreed. Since we had met through an online dating site, we agreed to try to pick some of the men on there and see if we could find any. It really wasn’t hard. We searched for men online within 10 miles, messaged about 6 and quickly got someone who agreed to come and join us. The guy in question turned up and I answered the flat door wearing a basque, hold-ups and stilettos. He undressed and joined us in my partner’s bed. He was clearly aroused…and my partner offered him first or second in a kind of matey way…he chose first…and fucked me quickly, coming within minutes, while my partner held me from behind. Then, he rolled over and muttered
‘Well if you don’t mind you two seem pretty into each other, so I’ll go now’
And dressed without washing, walked out into the night. Not quite the erotic experience we’d expected, though the anticipation was in itself enough.
So, this time we agreed it was to be a more planned event. I was to find someone through the internet, but to set a date rather than look for immediate fulfilment. The idea was that I had control over who to ask, but that I was not allowed to speak to the person in question or to see a photograph of them.
The man I found chatted to me on the internet. He told me that he was a regular at some of the London swingers clubs, that he had a partner who enjoyed that lifestyle and that they both enjoyed playing with other people when it suited them. He offered to call me and he offered to send me a photograph but I declined both. I wanted the thrill of the unexpected. I did have a description and I knew from his chat that he was reasonably articulate and could at least spell. That was enough.
The venue was to be my flat in West London, a high ceilinged Victorian mock gothic affair. My living room was dramatic with floor to ceiling red velvet curtains and a gold brocade covered chaise lounge. My bedroom small but private, with a large double bed taking up much of the room. I made sure the bed had fresh white bed linen, the living room had red roses on the table and white lilies in front of the fireplace. I lit scented candles so that the entire flat smelt of lavender and musk.
I bathed and prepared myself, rubbing body lotion on my arms and legs and baby oil onto my breasts and cunt. I put on make-up, strong red lipstick, mascara and black kohled eyes and dressed as suggested by my partner. Black hold-ups, a very short black leather skirt, a black basque, stiletto heels, a small silver choker round my neck. Then I poured myself a glass of champagne. I heard my partner returning and poured a glass for him too.
We had about half an hour to ourselves and played gently…no fucking, just fingers teasing and tormenting each other, lips playing and arousing each other, sipping champagne, nibbling on flesh. No fucking. I don’t know which of us was more nervous, which more excited.
The door bell rang; I hesitated before going to answer. Our guest was slightly built, clean and well dressed. He smelt faintly of fresh sweat, an honest clean smell. I offered him champagne but he refused…though he looked approvingly at me. I can’t remember how it started but I found myself kneeling on the chaise lounge sucking my partner…while our guest was fingering me. I was fucked. I remember being fucked with one man in my mouth, trying my best to concentrate on him, while becoming increasingly distracted by the cock in my cunt. I remember a swap at a certain point, cum spilling down my face and over my breasts. I remember one man pushing his cock into my arse. I don’t remember how it ended or how many times they came or how many times I came. It wasn’t like that - it was seamless, continuous and endless. I loved it.
Afterwards our guest showered and thanked us both. He offered to take us with him to the swingers clubs he used. He offered to take us both or me alone. But, something about that seemed tacky at the time. When he had left, my partner ran a bath for me and washed me gently, dried me and put me into the unused bed. Then bathed himself before joining me in bed. We held each other and slept.
Sunday, 30 December 2007
Saturday, 29 December 2007
Silence
Silence can be frightening, it can be erotic, it can be frustrating and it can be depressing if it is not consensual. When I hear nothing from you I quickly become depressed because I worry that you no longer want me. When I cannot ask you a question I can panic and fret, fearing I will fail you unintentionally.
Silence when I know it is intentionally controlled by you is frightening and erotic. When you first instructed me, told me that my role tonight was to serve you without words, without a sound, without saying anything I was both frightened and excited. You told me that no matter what you instructed I was to obey without question. And, as I was to be silent, I was not to answer the phone. You would keep me occupied and I wasn’t to chat on msn either…words without sound counted. My focus was to be on serving you.
I’m excited and aroused. The anticipation of following your instructions does that to me even (or perhaps even more so) if I am not sure what is going to result. I arrive by car at your house dressed as I have been told. I am wearing seamed stockings and a waspie style suspender belt. I have on a sheer white blouse, no bra and a tight fitting pencil skirt which buttons through from waist to knee. On my feet, high black patent stilettos, around my neck a fine black ribbon choker. Were it not for the extreme height of the heels, the arse clinging tightness of the skirt and the transparency of the blouse, I could be your PA visiting to take minutes of an extraordinary meeting...
You open the door and take me inside. The house is silent, no television or radio. In the hallway you turn me and inspect me. You open my bag and remove my mobile phone, disconnecting the battery before returning it. You pull my head back with one hand and unfasten my blouse with the other.
‘Now show me how pleased you are to see me slut’
I kneel in front of you and look up into your eyes. I clench my eyes closed for a minute, silently praying that I understand your first instruction this evening, then unzip your trousers and take you in my mouth. At least there is no temptation to speak this way with my mouth filled.
I taste the precum and play the head of your cock round my tongue. I ache for you to hold me but you are just watching, smiling and saying nothing. I cup your balls and gently stroke the area from your arse to your cock…and watch you groan with pleasure.
‘That’s enough for now. You haven’t earned that yet…Now, I want to watch you strip for me. I will tell you when to stop. Stand now and I will direct you.’
You push me in front of you into the living room. I’m embarrassed and nervous. The lights are on full and there’s space in the middle of the room for me. You put on a CD and I start to strip. I unbutton my skirt and step out of it. I slowly unbutton my blouse. My breasts are bare and exposed, the nipples erect. I wriggle out of the blouse and try a poor imitation of a stripper by turning and winding it round my head. My intention is to leave the choker till the end, for me that has a special meaning and is my sign to you of my submission.
‘That’s enough. Definitely more practise needed there but you may keep your shoes and stockings – they rather please me’
I was actually rather hoping to be barefoot. The shoes have 5inch heels and I am walking on tiptoes. But I think you’ve noticed that I am more vulnerable this way than barefoot.
‘Now if you go into the kitchen you’ll see My supper waiting for you to cook’
You’ve laid out a single steak, some mushrooms, a tomato and the ingredients for a salad. I am feeling a little more confident now; I know how you like this prepared. As the steak sizzles I hear your footsteps behind me. I feel your eyes on my bare arse and almost, but don’t quite anticipate what happens next as you grab my hair and spank me hard. And, I almost squeak…but bite my lip. You turn me and kiss me gently tasting the blood, then sucking vampire like on my lips and tongue. I And then you release me from your grip.
The steak is ready and I serve you. I’m hungry now and watching you eating is making me feel slightly dizzy.
‘Kneel girl; you should know your place by now!’
I am quickly on my knees, prostrate in front of you.
I stay for what seems like hours. I want to ask you what you have planned for the rest of the evening but cannot speak. Finally I hear the noise of you finishing your food. Calling You Sir makes me tremble and wriggle with excitement and I am frustrated at not being able to ask you if there is anything you need. But, warm in the knowledge I have not failed you yet.
‘Stand up girl – it’s time for you to clear and ready yourself’
I stand up and take your plate to the kitchen. I hear you behind me again…your hands on my waist, your lips biting at my neck. You turn me round and look at me hard. Smiling, but firm.
‘Are you hungry girl?’
I know not to answer…I nod my head and once again I am instructed to kneel and suck again. This time, you cum shudderingly in my mouth and as you have taught me, I hold your sweet cum in my mouth, waiting for your permission to swallow.
‘You have done well girl, swallow but don’t spill any or I will be annoyed’.
I gulp gratefully. My nervousness had made my lips and mouth quite dry and I had worried my service would not suffice. I love the feeling of you cumming in my mouth. It makes me want to gag sometimes but, I will not fail you and spill the cum you have honoured me with.
As I have been taught, I lick you clean and close your trousers. You lift me by my arms to a standing position facing you and look smiling but sternly at me.
‘You won’t fail me’
A statement not a question…but I am still tempted to answer. Instead I smile back and try my best to hide my trepidation.
Now you push me gently up the stairs. I know where we are heading. I am, it must be said, deeply nervous. It is not that I have ever questioned you. It is that I have not been forbidden to do so. There are things upstairs in your dungeon that you have suggested I will enjoy and that you have not yet used on me.
Whips of various sorts including something you call a Sjambok…I’ve seen them. They scare me and I wonder just how far my love of pain will go. I try my best to keep an open mind about this, you know me and my body language and I trust you to torment me, beat me, flog me, cane me and spank me. I love you for the pain you inflict which overwhelms me, arouses me and excites me. And, I want you to push me further and further. Then there are the knives. Shiny beasts. You tell me that you don’t have to cut or break the skin with them. That play can be based completely on fear.
And then, I am sure, there are other things I haven’t spotted yet.
I decide the best course of action is to stop thinking and start trusting. Or rather I probably don’t decide consciously, I’m already far too much on edge. I just let my existence rest entirely in your hands.
I’m still silent.
You instruct me to kneel, as I have done before, on your bench. I do so happily. I love your spankings, I know I will tingle, be aroused and ache for more. And, as I feel your hand first firmly but gently and then harder on my arse I want to murmur ‘thank you Sir’ as I would do normally. I can’t. I can’t let you know how I feel…and that makes me powerless again.
Now, my arse nicely warm and tingling I hear you moving across the room and picking out a new instrument of torture. I hear a swoosh and guess this is the whip that scares me so much. I brace myself not to flinch or move. It’s gentle…almost like a stingy massage and I relax. I peep and see you smiling down at me again. Another swoosh, another impact…harder, then harder still till tears run down my face and I drift away to a different place.
You are there beating me and whipping me, yet holding me and cherishing me and fucking me I want so much to scream and I am close to cumming and I know I must not do so will not do so and you stop.
‘Shall I mark you girl?’
You reach for your trouser fly…and then stop again…
‘No…just a little too obvious…we’ll save that for another time. This silence is golden enough I think’
You wrap me in your arms and carry me away to bed and cuddle me, run your fingers through my hair, bite my breasts and nipples, fuck me and then fall asleep around me. And I silently weep with joy.
Silence when I know it is intentionally controlled by you is frightening and erotic. When you first instructed me, told me that my role tonight was to serve you without words, without a sound, without saying anything I was both frightened and excited. You told me that no matter what you instructed I was to obey without question. And, as I was to be silent, I was not to answer the phone. You would keep me occupied and I wasn’t to chat on msn either…words without sound counted. My focus was to be on serving you.
I’m excited and aroused. The anticipation of following your instructions does that to me even (or perhaps even more so) if I am not sure what is going to result. I arrive by car at your house dressed as I have been told. I am wearing seamed stockings and a waspie style suspender belt. I have on a sheer white blouse, no bra and a tight fitting pencil skirt which buttons through from waist to knee. On my feet, high black patent stilettos, around my neck a fine black ribbon choker. Were it not for the extreme height of the heels, the arse clinging tightness of the skirt and the transparency of the blouse, I could be your PA visiting to take minutes of an extraordinary meeting...
You open the door and take me inside. The house is silent, no television or radio. In the hallway you turn me and inspect me. You open my bag and remove my mobile phone, disconnecting the battery before returning it. You pull my head back with one hand and unfasten my blouse with the other.
‘Now show me how pleased you are to see me slut’
I kneel in front of you and look up into your eyes. I clench my eyes closed for a minute, silently praying that I understand your first instruction this evening, then unzip your trousers and take you in my mouth. At least there is no temptation to speak this way with my mouth filled.
I taste the precum and play the head of your cock round my tongue. I ache for you to hold me but you are just watching, smiling and saying nothing. I cup your balls and gently stroke the area from your arse to your cock…and watch you groan with pleasure.
‘That’s enough for now. You haven’t earned that yet…Now, I want to watch you strip for me. I will tell you when to stop. Stand now and I will direct you.’
You push me in front of you into the living room. I’m embarrassed and nervous. The lights are on full and there’s space in the middle of the room for me. You put on a CD and I start to strip. I unbutton my skirt and step out of it. I slowly unbutton my blouse. My breasts are bare and exposed, the nipples erect. I wriggle out of the blouse and try a poor imitation of a stripper by turning and winding it round my head. My intention is to leave the choker till the end, for me that has a special meaning and is my sign to you of my submission.
‘That’s enough. Definitely more practise needed there but you may keep your shoes and stockings – they rather please me’
I was actually rather hoping to be barefoot. The shoes have 5inch heels and I am walking on tiptoes. But I think you’ve noticed that I am more vulnerable this way than barefoot.
‘Now if you go into the kitchen you’ll see My supper waiting for you to cook’
You’ve laid out a single steak, some mushrooms, a tomato and the ingredients for a salad. I am feeling a little more confident now; I know how you like this prepared. As the steak sizzles I hear your footsteps behind me. I feel your eyes on my bare arse and almost, but don’t quite anticipate what happens next as you grab my hair and spank me hard. And, I almost squeak…but bite my lip. You turn me and kiss me gently tasting the blood, then sucking vampire like on my lips and tongue. I And then you release me from your grip.
The steak is ready and I serve you. I’m hungry now and watching you eating is making me feel slightly dizzy.
‘Kneel girl; you should know your place by now!’
I am quickly on my knees, prostrate in front of you.
I stay for what seems like hours. I want to ask you what you have planned for the rest of the evening but cannot speak. Finally I hear the noise of you finishing your food. Calling You Sir makes me tremble and wriggle with excitement and I am frustrated at not being able to ask you if there is anything you need. But, warm in the knowledge I have not failed you yet.
‘Stand up girl – it’s time for you to clear and ready yourself’
I stand up and take your plate to the kitchen. I hear you behind me again…your hands on my waist, your lips biting at my neck. You turn me round and look at me hard. Smiling, but firm.
‘Are you hungry girl?’
I know not to answer…I nod my head and once again I am instructed to kneel and suck again. This time, you cum shudderingly in my mouth and as you have taught me, I hold your sweet cum in my mouth, waiting for your permission to swallow.
‘You have done well girl, swallow but don’t spill any or I will be annoyed’.
I gulp gratefully. My nervousness had made my lips and mouth quite dry and I had worried my service would not suffice. I love the feeling of you cumming in my mouth. It makes me want to gag sometimes but, I will not fail you and spill the cum you have honoured me with.
As I have been taught, I lick you clean and close your trousers. You lift me by my arms to a standing position facing you and look smiling but sternly at me.
‘You won’t fail me’
A statement not a question…but I am still tempted to answer. Instead I smile back and try my best to hide my trepidation.
Now you push me gently up the stairs. I know where we are heading. I am, it must be said, deeply nervous. It is not that I have ever questioned you. It is that I have not been forbidden to do so. There are things upstairs in your dungeon that you have suggested I will enjoy and that you have not yet used on me.
Whips of various sorts including something you call a Sjambok…I’ve seen them. They scare me and I wonder just how far my love of pain will go. I try my best to keep an open mind about this, you know me and my body language and I trust you to torment me, beat me, flog me, cane me and spank me. I love you for the pain you inflict which overwhelms me, arouses me and excites me. And, I want you to push me further and further. Then there are the knives. Shiny beasts. You tell me that you don’t have to cut or break the skin with them. That play can be based completely on fear.
And then, I am sure, there are other things I haven’t spotted yet.
I decide the best course of action is to stop thinking and start trusting. Or rather I probably don’t decide consciously, I’m already far too much on edge. I just let my existence rest entirely in your hands.
I’m still silent.
You instruct me to kneel, as I have done before, on your bench. I do so happily. I love your spankings, I know I will tingle, be aroused and ache for more. And, as I feel your hand first firmly but gently and then harder on my arse I want to murmur ‘thank you Sir’ as I would do normally. I can’t. I can’t let you know how I feel…and that makes me powerless again.
Now, my arse nicely warm and tingling I hear you moving across the room and picking out a new instrument of torture. I hear a swoosh and guess this is the whip that scares me so much. I brace myself not to flinch or move. It’s gentle…almost like a stingy massage and I relax. I peep and see you smiling down at me again. Another swoosh, another impact…harder, then harder still till tears run down my face and I drift away to a different place.
You are there beating me and whipping me, yet holding me and cherishing me and fucking me I want so much to scream and I am close to cumming and I know I must not do so will not do so and you stop.
‘Shall I mark you girl?’
You reach for your trouser fly…and then stop again…
‘No…just a little too obvious…we’ll save that for another time. This silence is golden enough I think’
You wrap me in your arms and carry me away to bed and cuddle me, run your fingers through my hair, bite my breasts and nipples, fuck me and then fall asleep around me. And I silently weep with joy.
The zipless fuck revisited.
I read Fear of Flying when I was about 13. It was one of those books my 60s liberated parents had on the bookshelf that we were supposed to know was not for us to read yet. I don’t remember being particularly impressed. But by then I had worked my way through a whole range of erotic literature - Milan Kundera, Simone de Beauvoir, Anais Nin and Arthur Miller to name a few. Erica’s offering just seemed like American trash to me. But I did like the phrase ‘zipless fuck’ and the idea that perhaps women could disassociate sex with emotion (incidentally – I haven’t read the book since, so if I am misquoting please excuse me).
I reached something of a life crisis when I was about 35. Both my parents had been seriously ill, my relationship had ended in tears (again) and I was up to my ears in being a corporate career girl. My dad died after 6 months in a coma and a further 3 months in a high dependency unit. My board level boss had little sympathy with the depressed state that left me in and told me to pull my corporate socks up or get out. I chose to leave.
And then what?
Well, I was a bit bored and not very motivated by the process of looking for more work, so I decided to liven things up a bit. I didn’t want a ‘relationship’, but I ached for something physical, carnal and forbidden. I’d used small ads in conventional publications before. This time I found a magazine that my dad had often left lying around and decided that I might just try and see what happened.
‘Looking for a long hard fuck – single woman aged 35 needs attention’
This was in the early days of the internet and well before the digital camera. So, the ad was just a text box in the magazine. It got around 200 replies to my voice box. Desperate sounding men, cool sounding men, openly married men. All shapes and sizes. I had no idea. Really.
The enlightening thing at this stage for me was how many men were keen to meet a woman to fuck, without seeing her in advance, without the protocol of dating, without any kind of knowledge of who she was and where she had been. So I set myself a little challenge. A personal attempt at the zipless fuck. The idea was that for a 14 day period I would meet at least 2 a day. If I liked them I would fuck them. If not I would send them home. I was aroused and excited by the idea.
I started to phone some of them back. After working hard to convince them that I was not a hooker and that I didn’t want paying, I started to explore their fantasies – if they had them. And I made dates to meet. Two or three dates a day since I wasn’t working. Generally I met somewhere public but not too far from my flat. Sometimes, particularly with those who told me they were married, I simply invited them to the flat for coffee. I figured the married ones would be easy to get rid of and unlikely to become stalkers. One of the things I wanted was to be fucked by someone after someone else had been there first, unwashed and unclean. I wanted to see if it was noticed.
Memorable moments? Yes, there were a few, where the man had the imagination to ask for something different. Wearing a very short black chiffon skirt, stockings, suspenders and no knickers to meet for morning coffee in South Molton street was one. More for the experience of dressing for him, watching the workmen looking shocked when my skirt caught the wind and The man who I thought was a recruitment consultant who met me for drinks at a nice London hotel. His initial response was ‘I think I can run to a hotel room for the night if we feel like it and I liked his hesitancy, which was unusual. When he asked if I'd like to go for dinner we went for a pizza at my suggestion, to which he said ‘most girls would ask for more’ before going back to my flat for a full night of sex. That was one of the few meetings that resulted in a follow up - in this case a weekend in New York (he turned out to be a wealthy investment banker). The exquisitely well mannered married Frenchman who arrived, had coffee, undressed and then kissed me and couldn’t go through with it. But, by the end of the fortnight it was mundane and grubby.
It’s not something I’d repeat. It was enlightening and depressing at the same time. I stayed in touch with two or three of the men I met. I even fell in love with one briefly. It was a bitter experience but one I am glad I was foolish enough to try. From it I learnt that for me at least, satisfying sex is inextricably linked with an emotional connection. That the physical act can have no emotion at all attached and doesn’t in itself create a bond. And, that there is an excitement in meeting and fucking a stranger.
Finally, if it was noticed, it wasn’t mentioned.
I reached something of a life crisis when I was about 35. Both my parents had been seriously ill, my relationship had ended in tears (again) and I was up to my ears in being a corporate career girl. My dad died after 6 months in a coma and a further 3 months in a high dependency unit. My board level boss had little sympathy with the depressed state that left me in and told me to pull my corporate socks up or get out. I chose to leave.
And then what?
Well, I was a bit bored and not very motivated by the process of looking for more work, so I decided to liven things up a bit. I didn’t want a ‘relationship’, but I ached for something physical, carnal and forbidden. I’d used small ads in conventional publications before. This time I found a magazine that my dad had often left lying around and decided that I might just try and see what happened.
‘Looking for a long hard fuck – single woman aged 35 needs attention’
This was in the early days of the internet and well before the digital camera. So, the ad was just a text box in the magazine. It got around 200 replies to my voice box. Desperate sounding men, cool sounding men, openly married men. All shapes and sizes. I had no idea. Really.
The enlightening thing at this stage for me was how many men were keen to meet a woman to fuck, without seeing her in advance, without the protocol of dating, without any kind of knowledge of who she was and where she had been. So I set myself a little challenge. A personal attempt at the zipless fuck. The idea was that for a 14 day period I would meet at least 2 a day. If I liked them I would fuck them. If not I would send them home. I was aroused and excited by the idea.
I started to phone some of them back. After working hard to convince them that I was not a hooker and that I didn’t want paying, I started to explore their fantasies – if they had them. And I made dates to meet. Two or three dates a day since I wasn’t working. Generally I met somewhere public but not too far from my flat. Sometimes, particularly with those who told me they were married, I simply invited them to the flat for coffee. I figured the married ones would be easy to get rid of and unlikely to become stalkers. One of the things I wanted was to be fucked by someone after someone else had been there first, unwashed and unclean. I wanted to see if it was noticed.
Memorable moments? Yes, there were a few, where the man had the imagination to ask for something different. Wearing a very short black chiffon skirt, stockings, suspenders and no knickers to meet for morning coffee in South Molton street was one. More for the experience of dressing for him, watching the workmen looking shocked when my skirt caught the wind and The man who I thought was a recruitment consultant who met me for drinks at a nice London hotel. His initial response was ‘I think I can run to a hotel room for the night if we feel like it and I liked his hesitancy, which was unusual. When he asked if I'd like to go for dinner we went for a pizza at my suggestion, to which he said ‘most girls would ask for more’ before going back to my flat for a full night of sex. That was one of the few meetings that resulted in a follow up - in this case a weekend in New York (he turned out to be a wealthy investment banker). The exquisitely well mannered married Frenchman who arrived, had coffee, undressed and then kissed me and couldn’t go through with it. But, by the end of the fortnight it was mundane and grubby.
It’s not something I’d repeat. It was enlightening and depressing at the same time. I stayed in touch with two or three of the men I met. I even fell in love with one briefly. It was a bitter experience but one I am glad I was foolish enough to try. From it I learnt that for me at least, satisfying sex is inextricably linked with an emotional connection. That the physical act can have no emotion at all attached and doesn’t in itself create a bond. And, that there is an excitement in meeting and fucking a stranger.
Finally, if it was noticed, it wasn’t mentioned.
The Party
The house is pristine. Every door lintel has been dusted, every inch of wood dressed with beeswax, the carpets and rugs vacuumed, the mirrors polished and your dungeon tidied – implements of torture hooked in order on the walls and benches, toys and tools wiped and sanitised.
This girl has been told what to prepare for the meal. To set the table for four guests. She has dressed the table with a pure white starched tablecloth and placed three candles along the centre. There is no other decoration on the table. To the side of each chair a cushion is placed. All of your instructions for preparing the house have been carried out.
The food is all prepared according to Your instruction. The menu approved by You. There is a cold seafood starter with shellfish to be laid out as a central platter. Then roasted quails with game chips, carrots and beans. And finally a large bowl of fresh fruit: Strawberries, Cherries, Lychees, Passion Fruit and Physillis. There is red wine open on the table, white wine still chilling in the fridge.
Upstairs she has laid out clothes for you. A clean and freshly ironed black cotton shirt and well cut black trousers. Newly polished shoes and black socks.
You have been kind and instructed her to find some help for the evening. Your proposal is to pick a young male submissive – she has already laughed with you about the attention given to her from some of them, how willing they are to serve and how they try to persuade her that that she would be a fabulous Domme. So, Gabriele is here, a young Italian friend. He’s just 30 and truly beautiful. Dark eyed, pale skinned and with almost black curls that reach just around his ears. He is fascinated. I help him ready himself. After a shower, I rub his body with oil and then gild him with body paint so that every muscle is enhanced by light. He wears a small gold cloth to give him some decency. Now he is just a little helpless. He daren’t sit on anything with upholstery in case the body paint smears. So he sits on the edge of a stool in the kitchen reading.
This girl bathes in almond and coconut milk and pumices her feet and smooths her knees and elbows with the loofah until they are almost raw. She washes her hair and scrubs her face and body clean. After drying carefully she rubs more almond body lotion on my breasts and arse, legs and arms. She makes up carefully so that she look just a little slutty. Pale foundation, red cheeks, dark eyes ringed with kohl, eyelashes curled and heavy with mascara and deep red lipstick. She dresses as instructed. The red corset, a black velvet choker, lace topped hold-ups and high black patent stiletto shoes. No knickers. No skirt.
You are back. This girl is ready for your inspection. You turn her round and pulls her corset in another inch or two. She gasps and consider it is just as well she had no plans to eat this evening. Gabriele appears from the kitchen and sees her dressed up for the first time. There is a visible look of shock on his face. In that moment he has realised this evening is going to happen.
‘Very nice – that will please my Friends greatly’
You nod approvingly at Gabriele and then dismiss both to continue with work in the kitchen. She hears you upstairs showering and longs to be with you. But, her instructions are not to neglect your guests in her eagerness to be with you. You know this girl too well and have anticipated where her attention would like to be. So she and Gabriele stay in the kitchen carefully polishing the cutlery and the glassware and checking all the food we have prepared earlier.
Your footsteps on the stairs, she walks into the hall and looks up at you. Although you are already tall, this girl loves seeing you towering, raised above your natural height by the staircase. She aches to kneel before you.
The table is set with the newly polished silver and glassware. The candles are lit. The main lights are dimmed but the room glows from candles on the table and round the room. You sit in your favourite chair gently stroking her hair as she kneels to your left. The doorbell rings and as instructed, Gabriele goes to let the guests in. She rises and You place your hands on her waist.
She bows her head as the guests enter. A stunning Domme and her sub, she knows to be good friends of Yours. Then a younger Dom You are helping and his even younger sub. And finally a switchy girl friend of yours who she has heard of but never met. You ask who would like drinks and this girl goes silently to the kitchen to prepare them.
The guests are seated at the table. In the kitchen the food is ready to be served. Gabriele takes first the white wine to you and then carries in the platter of seafood to the centre of the table. Each Dominant motions to their sub to sit and this girl is pleased to see that her space is next to you at your feet while Gabriele is permitted to sit by your switchy girlfriend. For the first ten minutes or so the Dominants talk together and eat from the seafood platter. Then you motion to this girl and she looks up into your eyes. She opens her mouth and you take an oyster in its shell and tip it into her throat. She swallows obediently. Now each Dom/me feed the sub beside him or her until nothing remains on the platter. You hold your fingers to this girl and she licks them clean, savouring the sour fishy taste, imagining your cum on her lips, before clearing the plates and taking them to the kitchen.
Much the same routine is followed with the quail and the fruit. Throughout the subs say nothing but listen intently to the conversation above them. You are keen to show your new dungeon and the promise after the meal is that everyone from the group will spend sometime upstairs playing.
‘Shall we adjourn’
You take this girl by the arm, up the stairs. The others follow. She has no idea what you have planned for her. Although she knows the dungeon all too well, each play session has been different, each experience unique. She is hungry still, although you have fed her, you have been careful to keep her appetite keen and she is expectant and wet.
‘Tonight girl, you are to make Gabriele’s dreams come true – I want you to play with my friend here and see how much you can torment him’
The Domme grins. This girl realises that although she is to play the Domme, she is also being gifted herself. And so the play begins.
Gabriele is bound and lying on the bench. This girl is confident for now and knots the rope well around his wrists and ankles. She hopes, perhaps, that she can manage to spank him and will please You.
Your Domme friend walks round and takes me by the hand. She takes my hand and guides me to spank Gabrieles bare arse. She runs her nails across the back of my neck and over my bare shoulders as I spank and encourages me.
‘harder – higher – faster’
My arm is aching and I start to slow.
‘What, giving up so soon…I will have to deal with you both then.
She forces me into a kneeling position beside the bench. I look up to see you smiling wickedly at my failure. Behind me I hear the swish of toys…and the thud as the full force of the flogger meets Gabriele’s arse. I’m waiting silently, aware of the audience, aware that any sound from me will not be tolerated.
Gabriele is released, I take my turn. Untied, no bindings…my arse bare to the audience. She is hard on me but I have learnt to be silent. I ache for you though…although my arse is smarting, it is Your ache I desire. Once again I lift my eyes to Yours and know for now it is not to be. Tonight I am Your gift to others.
Eventually Your guests depart. Each sub has been used, tormented and is spent. Gabriele is curled sleeping on the sofa, the gold bodypaint worn away where he has been flogged, beaten and tied leaving naked flesh pink and raw in places. I cover him and hug him gently. I ache, not from the touch that I desire but from other play. You take this girl in your arms, enfold her. You pull her breast free of the corset, bite hard on the nipple so that tears come to her eyes. You pick her up, childlike and carry her to your bed. And there, you cherish her and make her Your own again.
This girl has been told what to prepare for the meal. To set the table for four guests. She has dressed the table with a pure white starched tablecloth and placed three candles along the centre. There is no other decoration on the table. To the side of each chair a cushion is placed. All of your instructions for preparing the house have been carried out.
The food is all prepared according to Your instruction. The menu approved by You. There is a cold seafood starter with shellfish to be laid out as a central platter. Then roasted quails with game chips, carrots and beans. And finally a large bowl of fresh fruit: Strawberries, Cherries, Lychees, Passion Fruit and Physillis. There is red wine open on the table, white wine still chilling in the fridge.
Upstairs she has laid out clothes for you. A clean and freshly ironed black cotton shirt and well cut black trousers. Newly polished shoes and black socks.
You have been kind and instructed her to find some help for the evening. Your proposal is to pick a young male submissive – she has already laughed with you about the attention given to her from some of them, how willing they are to serve and how they try to persuade her that that she would be a fabulous Domme. So, Gabriele is here, a young Italian friend. He’s just 30 and truly beautiful. Dark eyed, pale skinned and with almost black curls that reach just around his ears. He is fascinated. I help him ready himself. After a shower, I rub his body with oil and then gild him with body paint so that every muscle is enhanced by light. He wears a small gold cloth to give him some decency. Now he is just a little helpless. He daren’t sit on anything with upholstery in case the body paint smears. So he sits on the edge of a stool in the kitchen reading.
This girl bathes in almond and coconut milk and pumices her feet and smooths her knees and elbows with the loofah until they are almost raw. She washes her hair and scrubs her face and body clean. After drying carefully she rubs more almond body lotion on my breasts and arse, legs and arms. She makes up carefully so that she look just a little slutty. Pale foundation, red cheeks, dark eyes ringed with kohl, eyelashes curled and heavy with mascara and deep red lipstick. She dresses as instructed. The red corset, a black velvet choker, lace topped hold-ups and high black patent stiletto shoes. No knickers. No skirt.
You are back. This girl is ready for your inspection. You turn her round and pulls her corset in another inch or two. She gasps and consider it is just as well she had no plans to eat this evening. Gabriele appears from the kitchen and sees her dressed up for the first time. There is a visible look of shock on his face. In that moment he has realised this evening is going to happen.
‘Very nice – that will please my Friends greatly’
You nod approvingly at Gabriele and then dismiss both to continue with work in the kitchen. She hears you upstairs showering and longs to be with you. But, her instructions are not to neglect your guests in her eagerness to be with you. You know this girl too well and have anticipated where her attention would like to be. So she and Gabriele stay in the kitchen carefully polishing the cutlery and the glassware and checking all the food we have prepared earlier.
Your footsteps on the stairs, she walks into the hall and looks up at you. Although you are already tall, this girl loves seeing you towering, raised above your natural height by the staircase. She aches to kneel before you.
The table is set with the newly polished silver and glassware. The candles are lit. The main lights are dimmed but the room glows from candles on the table and round the room. You sit in your favourite chair gently stroking her hair as she kneels to your left. The doorbell rings and as instructed, Gabriele goes to let the guests in. She rises and You place your hands on her waist.
She bows her head as the guests enter. A stunning Domme and her sub, she knows to be good friends of Yours. Then a younger Dom You are helping and his even younger sub. And finally a switchy girl friend of yours who she has heard of but never met. You ask who would like drinks and this girl goes silently to the kitchen to prepare them.
The guests are seated at the table. In the kitchen the food is ready to be served. Gabriele takes first the white wine to you and then carries in the platter of seafood to the centre of the table. Each Dominant motions to their sub to sit and this girl is pleased to see that her space is next to you at your feet while Gabriele is permitted to sit by your switchy girlfriend. For the first ten minutes or so the Dominants talk together and eat from the seafood platter. Then you motion to this girl and she looks up into your eyes. She opens her mouth and you take an oyster in its shell and tip it into her throat. She swallows obediently. Now each Dom/me feed the sub beside him or her until nothing remains on the platter. You hold your fingers to this girl and she licks them clean, savouring the sour fishy taste, imagining your cum on her lips, before clearing the plates and taking them to the kitchen.
Much the same routine is followed with the quail and the fruit. Throughout the subs say nothing but listen intently to the conversation above them. You are keen to show your new dungeon and the promise after the meal is that everyone from the group will spend sometime upstairs playing.
‘Shall we adjourn’
You take this girl by the arm, up the stairs. The others follow. She has no idea what you have planned for her. Although she knows the dungeon all too well, each play session has been different, each experience unique. She is hungry still, although you have fed her, you have been careful to keep her appetite keen and she is expectant and wet.
‘Tonight girl, you are to make Gabriele’s dreams come true – I want you to play with my friend here and see how much you can torment him’
The Domme grins. This girl realises that although she is to play the Domme, she is also being gifted herself. And so the play begins.
Gabriele is bound and lying on the bench. This girl is confident for now and knots the rope well around his wrists and ankles. She hopes, perhaps, that she can manage to spank him and will please You.
Your Domme friend walks round and takes me by the hand. She takes my hand and guides me to spank Gabrieles bare arse. She runs her nails across the back of my neck and over my bare shoulders as I spank and encourages me.
‘harder – higher – faster’
My arm is aching and I start to slow.
‘What, giving up so soon…I will have to deal with you both then.
She forces me into a kneeling position beside the bench. I look up to see you smiling wickedly at my failure. Behind me I hear the swish of toys…and the thud as the full force of the flogger meets Gabriele’s arse. I’m waiting silently, aware of the audience, aware that any sound from me will not be tolerated.
Gabriele is released, I take my turn. Untied, no bindings…my arse bare to the audience. She is hard on me but I have learnt to be silent. I ache for you though…although my arse is smarting, it is Your ache I desire. Once again I lift my eyes to Yours and know for now it is not to be. Tonight I am Your gift to others.
Eventually Your guests depart. Each sub has been used, tormented and is spent. Gabriele is curled sleeping on the sofa, the gold bodypaint worn away where he has been flogged, beaten and tied leaving naked flesh pink and raw in places. I cover him and hug him gently. I ache, not from the touch that I desire but from other play. You take this girl in your arms, enfold her. You pull her breast free of the corset, bite hard on the nipple so that tears come to her eyes. You pick her up, childlike and carry her to your bed. And there, you cherish her and make her Your own again.
Wednesday, 26 December 2007
Dreaming
I ache for reality not fantasy. By preference, fantasies should be a shadow of the reality of life. I do not want to live forever in my mind, sharing my thoughts with strangers.
I dream, but wait for that kiss that will wake me and take me back into the real world.
The poetry here has been written for real people who have made promises that for one reason or another have not been fulfilled. Are my dreams so sublime that no-one can take me to their actuality? Are they so remote from reality that they will never exist?
I am alone.
I dream, but wait for that kiss that will wake me and take me back into the real world.
The poetry here has been written for real people who have made promises that for one reason or another have not been fulfilled. Are my dreams so sublime that no-one can take me to their actuality? Are they so remote from reality that they will never exist?
I am alone.
Thursday, 20 December 2007
An introduction to flogging
You have instructed me to buy a flogger. Apparently, something every sub should have. I search the internet and chat to friends on IC to find the best supplier. There is almost unanimous recommendation for Jacks Floggers and so I go to check out what to buy.
Buying over the internet is a wonderful and simple way to avoid potential embarrassment. But, I have never seen a flogger in real life. I have no idea what I am buying. I pick out the softest ‘beginner’ model and send a picture to you. In an effort to persuade you that the ‘beginner’ model would be a good start, I also send you pictures from other suppliers of floggers with plastic handles and of one which looks impressive but ineffective. You are not fooled.
I am to find something ‘insertable’. Yes, the wooden handle is good, but it should be turned in such a way that it can be used to your satisfaction to torment me.
I post you another picture. This looks somewhat vicious to me and I hesitate but ache to please you. Yes…that is better, but more falls. I write to Jack who sends me a charming reply and offers to make to measure for the same price. I order the beginner model (in case you have a softer moment) and the insertable with oiled leather falls.
A week or so later they arrive. They are truly beautiful. I lay them on the sofa and photograph them for you. And, I believe you approve as you make time to visit and to use them on me.
My flat is scrubbed from top to bottom. The bed is made with fresh white sheets. Ironed and pressed. The kittens are banned to downstairs. I wait anxiously for you. You have told me the day but not given me a time. I am tied.
I drink tea to calm myself. Gallons of hot sweet tea. I bathe and dress for you in something clingy but still ladylike. No stockings, no knickers, no bra. I know that is your preference. I am on edge.
At around 5pm you phone. You will be with me in half an hour. Nervously I check my make-up, brush my hair and pace. I drink more tea.
You arrive. You look well. I see you check me, my dress, my shoes, my hair, my make up and the small plastic bracelet I have worn for you for five months. I think I see a look of disappointment on your face, I guess it is that the pink of the bracelet is faded, but I say nothing because I am scared to spoil this. You have told me what to expect. That we will talk for a few minutes and then we will play. You stun me by presenting me with a white envelope containing about 20 yellow plastic plant ties. You tie four or five of them round my wrists and tell me that the rest are for me to use to remind me of my ties to You.
You lead me upstairs and instruct me to change. I do so quickly putting on silver platform shoes, a short black cotton skirt that sits on my hips and barely covers my arse and a cut off teeshirt that shows my breasts. I want to pee and ask permission but it is not granted. You tell me that if I need to pee you will go. I apologise and say that I will wait. You instruct me to sit and play with myself. I am not to cum. I am to use my toy. After a minute or so, you take the toy and start to use it on me yourself. And, as you see me approaching orgasm, you stop.
You tell me to lie face down, to imagine myself tied to the bed. I stretch out and you smile.
You take the beginner model and bring it across my legs. It’s soft but stingy. Really quite nice. And then you use it harder…now it hurts. I hear you telling me not to let you, not to move, that the ties which bind us should hold me still. Again and again you beat me across my thighs and arse. Then you switch to the evil model with the oiled falls and continue. Now I can feel the marking on my thighs and arse. You instruct me to turn and continue, across my cunt and tummy and breasts. I can see you smiling at the way you have decorated me with cross-stitch wheels.
Finally you stop. I am spaced and floating and you smile benignly at me. You find a blanket and wrap me. You find socks for my feet. You hug me. You stay with me and warn me that I must keep warm for the next few hours. It’s August, but I shiver uncontrollable and you laugh and say you told me so…
An hour or so later you leave. At last I can pee! But, although I am aroused and needy you have told me my punishment for nearly spoiling the scene through my desire to pee is that I may not orgasm. So, instead I lower my stinging arse into a warm bath and try to relax. And remember that a wise sub avoids tea!
Buying over the internet is a wonderful and simple way to avoid potential embarrassment. But, I have never seen a flogger in real life. I have no idea what I am buying. I pick out the softest ‘beginner’ model and send a picture to you. In an effort to persuade you that the ‘beginner’ model would be a good start, I also send you pictures from other suppliers of floggers with plastic handles and of one which looks impressive but ineffective. You are not fooled.
I am to find something ‘insertable’. Yes, the wooden handle is good, but it should be turned in such a way that it can be used to your satisfaction to torment me.
I post you another picture. This looks somewhat vicious to me and I hesitate but ache to please you. Yes…that is better, but more falls. I write to Jack who sends me a charming reply and offers to make to measure for the same price. I order the beginner model (in case you have a softer moment) and the insertable with oiled leather falls.
A week or so later they arrive. They are truly beautiful. I lay them on the sofa and photograph them for you. And, I believe you approve as you make time to visit and to use them on me.
My flat is scrubbed from top to bottom. The bed is made with fresh white sheets. Ironed and pressed. The kittens are banned to downstairs. I wait anxiously for you. You have told me the day but not given me a time. I am tied.
I drink tea to calm myself. Gallons of hot sweet tea. I bathe and dress for you in something clingy but still ladylike. No stockings, no knickers, no bra. I know that is your preference. I am on edge.
At around 5pm you phone. You will be with me in half an hour. Nervously I check my make-up, brush my hair and pace. I drink more tea.
You arrive. You look well. I see you check me, my dress, my shoes, my hair, my make up and the small plastic bracelet I have worn for you for five months. I think I see a look of disappointment on your face, I guess it is that the pink of the bracelet is faded, but I say nothing because I am scared to spoil this. You have told me what to expect. That we will talk for a few minutes and then we will play. You stun me by presenting me with a white envelope containing about 20 yellow plastic plant ties. You tie four or five of them round my wrists and tell me that the rest are for me to use to remind me of my ties to You.
You lead me upstairs and instruct me to change. I do so quickly putting on silver platform shoes, a short black cotton skirt that sits on my hips and barely covers my arse and a cut off teeshirt that shows my breasts. I want to pee and ask permission but it is not granted. You tell me that if I need to pee you will go. I apologise and say that I will wait. You instruct me to sit and play with myself. I am not to cum. I am to use my toy. After a minute or so, you take the toy and start to use it on me yourself. And, as you see me approaching orgasm, you stop.
You tell me to lie face down, to imagine myself tied to the bed. I stretch out and you smile.
You take the beginner model and bring it across my legs. It’s soft but stingy. Really quite nice. And then you use it harder…now it hurts. I hear you telling me not to let you, not to move, that the ties which bind us should hold me still. Again and again you beat me across my thighs and arse. Then you switch to the evil model with the oiled falls and continue. Now I can feel the marking on my thighs and arse. You instruct me to turn and continue, across my cunt and tummy and breasts. I can see you smiling at the way you have decorated me with cross-stitch wheels.
Finally you stop. I am spaced and floating and you smile benignly at me. You find a blanket and wrap me. You find socks for my feet. You hug me. You stay with me and warn me that I must keep warm for the next few hours. It’s August, but I shiver uncontrollable and you laugh and say you told me so…
An hour or so later you leave. At last I can pee! But, although I am aroused and needy you have told me my punishment for nearly spoiling the scene through my desire to pee is that I may not orgasm. So, instead I lower my stinging arse into a warm bath and try to relax. And remember that a wise sub avoids tea!
Wax
She prepares according to his instruction
First she arranges the room. The table is to be central. The chairs arranged around the room. She moves the old Victorian throne chairs and the chaise lounge against the back wall. The blinds are closed, the fire lit, the mantelpiece, piano and side tables cleared of everything except candles. There must be enough candles to create a good light. All around the room, on the piano, the mantelpiece, the windowsills and side tables. She is to cover the table with a blanket and then with an old white sheet. On the table she is to leave two lengths of hemp. She has small nightlights, larger votives and tall pillar candles which are to be arranged. She is to light only one scented candle and place it centrally on the mantelpiece but it is to burn for an hour or so before he arrives.
Then she bathes and prepares herself. She scrubs her skin smooth, washes her hair and removes every trace of makeup. To the naked child that emerges from the bath she applies scented oils to her arms, neck, breasts and legs so that they are soft and moist. She makes her face up carefully. If you looked you would wonder whether there was any make up or not. Apart from her lips which she paints with a deep plum stain. She puts on a black silk robe, lace top hold-ups and heeled shoes. She ties a black ribbon around her neck with a small diamond cluster that sits on her throat.
At the appointed time she lights all the remaining candles and sits at the piano to play. A Chopin waltz. You would know it. He has keys and he will come when he chooses. She must play until he instructs her to stop.
She is wet with anticipation. She tries to keep her focus on the music. It should be perfect and yet she knows it never will be no matter how much she practises and how much she despairs. She thinks of him, imagines what he will do, aches for his touch.
She hears the door and wants to stop playing and run to him. But her instruction is to stay with her back to the entrance, facing the piano and no matter what she hears to continue playing. She hears footsteps. She knows his tread and has a momentary feeling of reassurance when she hears him on the stairs. And then she realises that he is not alone.
There is a lighter sharper step behind him – heels – she knows the sound well from her own. And then a third sound – another masculine, heavy tread. In the silence of her music she hears no voices, just their feet on the stairs and now in the hall. Now just him again. She wants to look but her instruction is to continue to play until he tells her otherwise. She feels his breath on her neck, his hands on her breasts. He bites and she stops.
‘Bad girl, you know I will have to punish you now’
He pulls her head back sharply by her hair and blindfolds her.
‘Stand and I will guide you’
As instructed she stands and feels her robe being removed.
Now she hears his companions coming closer. Two pairs of hands on her. They touch her breasts, they feel her neck, they work their way down her back and finger her arse.
She knows his touch. He guides her to the table and gently helps her onto it. She is turned onto her back so that her breasts and cunt are naked and exposed. Now his companions return and this time she feels warm oils being massaged into her body. Her shoes are removed. Her stockings rolled down and she feels them massaging her feet, her ankles, the insides of her thighs. She knows she is aroused. His hand is now holding her cunt, feeling into the dampness while more oil is rubbed onto her breasts and stomach.
He turns her and grasps her hands. She feels the rope around her wrists. Her hands are tied over her head so that they fall off the edge of the table. Her chin and lips pushed into the sheet.
‘Spread your legs wide’
She feels the rope around the back of her knees pinioning her face down and legs apart to the table.
Now more hands, more oil, more touching. Gentle kisses on the back of her neck, warm oil poured into the curve of her spine. She aches. She wants him. She feels his fingers once again in her arse and cunt…she knows she is open and moist for him. She wants to cum. She hovers on the edge feeling her lips and cunt engorged. She tries not to tremble.
And then everything stops.
Inside her there is a scream. An agonising scream. Instead of sound what is released is silence.
Nothing.
She knows they are looking at her. She knows he is there. She knows if she questions now they will go and leave her unfulfilled.
Suddenly her head is pulled back and she can smell wax burning. She can feel the heat on her face. He lets her head back down. She feels the molten wax burning onto her back. Slow drops of wax dropping onto her. First it burns a little, hurts a little so that she tenses and moistens. Then wax on wax she feels herself encased. She lies very still. The wax pools into her back and small rivulets trace down her waist. She feels it reaching just to the start of her arse. His hands now holding her buttocks still while he anoints her, marks her and lets the molten was mould the image of her back.
It has stopped. She is once again left to reflect for a moment but daren’t move. Her instruction is to stay perfectly still.
Now the hands are touching her again, tormenting every area of skin that has not been encased in wax. She drifts into nothingness, feels herself floating as her neck, her arms and her shoulders are touched lightly…not his touch, surely that of a woman. And without warning she hears the cane and feels it across her arse. Three short, light strokes.
‘Your punishment’
Now the rustling of people departing. She hears the door slam and panics for a moment thinking he has left her there.
His footsteps on the stairs.
‘You are mine now to disrobe and enjoy’
She feels the wax being pulled carefully away from her back. Where it has gone her skin glows raw and stings at the feeling of fresh air. She can feel the welts of the caning on her arse, a contrasting pain. Her legs are released, her wrists unbound. He shows her the mould he has created of her back. The mirror of the image he can see but she can never accurately visualise.
He takes her, holds her, fucks her till they fall asleep wrapped in each other as the wax was wrapped around her.
First she arranges the room. The table is to be central. The chairs arranged around the room. She moves the old Victorian throne chairs and the chaise lounge against the back wall. The blinds are closed, the fire lit, the mantelpiece, piano and side tables cleared of everything except candles. There must be enough candles to create a good light. All around the room, on the piano, the mantelpiece, the windowsills and side tables. She is to cover the table with a blanket and then with an old white sheet. On the table she is to leave two lengths of hemp. She has small nightlights, larger votives and tall pillar candles which are to be arranged. She is to light only one scented candle and place it centrally on the mantelpiece but it is to burn for an hour or so before he arrives.
Then she bathes and prepares herself. She scrubs her skin smooth, washes her hair and removes every trace of makeup. To the naked child that emerges from the bath she applies scented oils to her arms, neck, breasts and legs so that they are soft and moist. She makes her face up carefully. If you looked you would wonder whether there was any make up or not. Apart from her lips which she paints with a deep plum stain. She puts on a black silk robe, lace top hold-ups and heeled shoes. She ties a black ribbon around her neck with a small diamond cluster that sits on her throat.
At the appointed time she lights all the remaining candles and sits at the piano to play. A Chopin waltz. You would know it. He has keys and he will come when he chooses. She must play until he instructs her to stop.
She is wet with anticipation. She tries to keep her focus on the music. It should be perfect and yet she knows it never will be no matter how much she practises and how much she despairs. She thinks of him, imagines what he will do, aches for his touch.
She hears the door and wants to stop playing and run to him. But her instruction is to stay with her back to the entrance, facing the piano and no matter what she hears to continue playing. She hears footsteps. She knows his tread and has a momentary feeling of reassurance when she hears him on the stairs. And then she realises that he is not alone.
There is a lighter sharper step behind him – heels – she knows the sound well from her own. And then a third sound – another masculine, heavy tread. In the silence of her music she hears no voices, just their feet on the stairs and now in the hall. Now just him again. She wants to look but her instruction is to continue to play until he tells her otherwise. She feels his breath on her neck, his hands on her breasts. He bites and she stops.
‘Bad girl, you know I will have to punish you now’
He pulls her head back sharply by her hair and blindfolds her.
‘Stand and I will guide you’
As instructed she stands and feels her robe being removed.
Now she hears his companions coming closer. Two pairs of hands on her. They touch her breasts, they feel her neck, they work their way down her back and finger her arse.
She knows his touch. He guides her to the table and gently helps her onto it. She is turned onto her back so that her breasts and cunt are naked and exposed. Now his companions return and this time she feels warm oils being massaged into her body. Her shoes are removed. Her stockings rolled down and she feels them massaging her feet, her ankles, the insides of her thighs. She knows she is aroused. His hand is now holding her cunt, feeling into the dampness while more oil is rubbed onto her breasts and stomach.
He turns her and grasps her hands. She feels the rope around her wrists. Her hands are tied over her head so that they fall off the edge of the table. Her chin and lips pushed into the sheet.
‘Spread your legs wide’
She feels the rope around the back of her knees pinioning her face down and legs apart to the table.
Now more hands, more oil, more touching. Gentle kisses on the back of her neck, warm oil poured into the curve of her spine. She aches. She wants him. She feels his fingers once again in her arse and cunt…she knows she is open and moist for him. She wants to cum. She hovers on the edge feeling her lips and cunt engorged. She tries not to tremble.
And then everything stops.
Inside her there is a scream. An agonising scream. Instead of sound what is released is silence.
Nothing.
She knows they are looking at her. She knows he is there. She knows if she questions now they will go and leave her unfulfilled.
Suddenly her head is pulled back and she can smell wax burning. She can feel the heat on her face. He lets her head back down. She feels the molten wax burning onto her back. Slow drops of wax dropping onto her. First it burns a little, hurts a little so that she tenses and moistens. Then wax on wax she feels herself encased. She lies very still. The wax pools into her back and small rivulets trace down her waist. She feels it reaching just to the start of her arse. His hands now holding her buttocks still while he anoints her, marks her and lets the molten was mould the image of her back.
It has stopped. She is once again left to reflect for a moment but daren’t move. Her instruction is to stay perfectly still.
Now the hands are touching her again, tormenting every area of skin that has not been encased in wax. She drifts into nothingness, feels herself floating as her neck, her arms and her shoulders are touched lightly…not his touch, surely that of a woman. And without warning she hears the cane and feels it across her arse. Three short, light strokes.
‘Your punishment’
Now the rustling of people departing. She hears the door slam and panics for a moment thinking he has left her there.
His footsteps on the stairs.
‘You are mine now to disrobe and enjoy’
She feels the wax being pulled carefully away from her back. Where it has gone her skin glows raw and stings at the feeling of fresh air. She can feel the welts of the caning on her arse, a contrasting pain. Her legs are released, her wrists unbound. He shows her the mould he has created of her back. The mirror of the image he can see but she can never accurately visualise.
He takes her, holds her, fucks her till they fall asleep wrapped in each other as the wax was wrapped around her.
Thursday, 6 December 2007
story
this is not a new piece of writing, I just believe it belongs with this collection
She had deliberately avoided speaking to him. All their arrangements had been made by email. She had a description of him but no picture. She had avoided trying to visualise him. She wanted that anticipation, that fear, that knowledge that whatever he looked like,he would fuck her. Like russian roulette. He might turn out to be too old, too grey and too withered for her to actually desire him. He might be fat or have a beard. He might smell (although her remedy for that was to suggest a joint shower before they had sex). He might cum too quickly or he might not be able to get an erection at all. However it turned out she would be satisfied. She knew she wouldn’t cum from his penetration, that was not the point at all. Her satisfaction came later, when he had left and she reflected on her action and ached from his attention but knew she would never see him again.
Anyone who knew her as a friend or a work colleague would have been astonished that she allowed a stranger into her home in that way, but she had her own way of providing herself with security. For a start, he didn’t know that it was her home. She’d told him she was house-sitting for friends and that she would be alone for tonight only. And, she had set herself a supper date with a girlfriend for a couple of hours after their appointment. But, it was important for her to keep some element of risk there.
She sat in her living room at the piano looking out of the window at the grey street. She could see clearly into the flats opposite, microcosms of other world. She wondered how the occupants lived and what went on behind their closed doors. She also wondered if they noticed the strangers at her door. She was vaguely excited at the idea that they might think she was a prostitute. She imagined knowing glances in her direction when she walked down the street. She fantasised about them sitting curled up together on the sofa trying to work out what she did. At times she would deliberately dress up and walk out in a too tight dress, high heels and sunglasses. At other times she’d leave the blinds open and the lights on and dance in her stripper outfit.
She constantly questioned herself. Was there something wrong with her? Much to the disappointment of her mother, she’d never married, there were no children and no husband to cook and clean for. And although she was curious to find a rationale for her own behaviour she wasn’t in the least bit perturbed by it or by her lack of conventionality. This suited her, excited her, motivated her and made her feel desired.
There was about an hour to kill before he was due to arrive. She’d removed all traces of her personal affairs…no papers or letters left lying around. The study door was closed. The bedroom she intended using was pristine. Clean sheets and a fresh bedcover, no clothes left unfolded on chairs, nothing personal at all other than a picture of her own mother as a small girl. She’d removed the picture of herself from the mantelpiece in the living room and put out a bottle of wine and two glasses. She flustered a bit around the place wiping away any traces of dust, anything that might make the flat feel lived in. She liked the idea that he would see it as a hotel room, a borrowed space, anonymous and impersonal. She didn’t want comments about her taste in bed linen or her choice of furniture. To all intents and purposes she wanted to stay a stranger to him…a hole to fuck, a moment in time of physical connection that would pass and be unrepeated.
She tried to read, but her mind was wandering. She went to the bathroom, washed herself again…scrubbed her cunt and then oiled it with a lubricant so that however he chose to take her she would be ready. In fact she was moist with anticipation and the lubricant was cosmetic. But, it was reassuring all the same and it meant that the actual act would be quick.
She looked again at her outfit. She was dressed as he had requested. It was an easy request to fulfil. He wanted her cunt smooth and bare, He’d asked for her to dress in a short skirt so that if she bent over he could see her lips. He wanted a slightly sheer blouse, tight fitting so that her nipples showed through but no bra. He wanted her to wear hold-ups and heels…to make up so that she looked like a tart. He wanted her jewellery to be cheap and tawdry and her hairstyle to be ever-so-slightly overdone. His perfect woman was, in fact, a tart.
She started to wonder a bit about him and then deliberately and pointedly moved her mind elsewhere and started to write the shopping list for tomorrow’s dinner party. She knew from experience that if she allowed herself to visualise or picture him the reality would disappoint. Whether he was in principle better or worse than she had imagined the dynamic would be lost.
And so she waited patiently, aroused and needy.
At precisely three minutes past the appointed time the doorbell rang and she went to greet her guest. Her head was lowered as she opened the door so that her line of sight was directed to his waist. He was wearing a conventional suit. City pinstripe. There was a faint smell of quality cologne. She could see his excitement…he was anticipatory. She held the door open for him and waited until he had walked through. The rule, her rule was that he wouldn’t speak until after he had undressed her and taken what he wanted. And so they sat in silence on her sofa, side by side drinking a glass of wine. Her body trembled and ached for his touch but she had written to him that she would not touch him until he touched her, that he could do as he pleased but it was to be silent and his instruction was to be physical rather than verbal.
As she sipped her wine she could feel his eyes on her breasts. Her nipples taught and erect beneath the fine silk chiffon of her blouse. He lent over and put his hand inside her blouse, cupped her breast and pinched hard on the nipple so that tears came to her eyes. He stood up and bent over her so that his face was close to her cleavage. He put his hands on her waist and gently pulled her up so that she was standing a few inches from him. Then he stepped back and motioned to her to turn. She spun slowly round on the tips of her toes, the back of her legs tensed from the heels she was wearing. She could feel his eyes checking her arse, running up and down her legs. She looked him in the eye and started to walk towards the door. He followed her. Up the stairs, her heels tapping, tapping on the wood, his silence following her arse
Upstairs he pushed her onto the bed and with both hands pulled her skirt up and opened her legs. He smiled. He could see her moistness. He picked up the toy she had left for him by the side of the bed and turned it on. He pushed her back on the bed so her legs were bent up and her cunt exposed and he pushed the toy hard onto her clit. She wanted to moan as he moved the toy into her and pressed it hard against her g-spot. She closed her eyes and as she did heard the sound of him undressing. She didn’t want to see his cock. She didn’t want to know who or what was taking her. Just to feel the comfort of a stranger.
And then she felt him. His hands holding her arms down, the weight of his chest on her still clothed breasts and his cock pushing into her hard. He stopped. Pulled out. He grabbed her, pulled her blouse over her head and turned her over so she was crouched on the bed with her head down. And then she felt him again, pushing into her, taking her.
For her, it was uneventful. He took her. He came gasping and moaning…and then lay back on the bed with her and put his arm around her and thanked her.
He washed, he dressed and he left.
She stripped and put on her silk dressing gown. Removed the sordid remnants of his play and opened the bedroom window. She walked downstairs and started the bath running, lacing it with coconut and almond bath foam. She ran the water hot, so hot that she knew it would scald when she got in.
While she was running the bath, she made tea. Sweet and smokey lapsang souchong. No milk. She made the tea in a small china pot and poured it into a porcelain mug. The clear brown liquid hit the back of her throat, the scent filled her nostrils. She walked back to the bathroom and disrobed. She put the tea on the side of the bath and stepped gingerly in to the foamy, steaming water. She lay back. The water covered her almost completely to the neck. Just her toes and nipples peeked through the foam. She looked down on her enrobed body and then relaxed back, closing her eyes. Various scents drifted through the room. She lay in silence, no music, no noise from outside. She relaxed.
She played gently with her nipples, tweaking them and splashing them with warm water. She massaged her breasts and covered them with foam. She washed her cunt. She pushed her head back under the water and covered her hair, then washed it with shampoo and rinsed it with the showerspray so that it lay flat and wet against her head. Then, she stood up and got out of the bath and wrapped herself up in the warm towels she’d left out on the rail.
She went into the back bedroom. This was her space. No one except her ever used this room, it was sacrosanct. She lit a candle and while the scent of lavender filled the room she dried her hair. Then, she sat naked on her bed and covered herself with body lotion. Starting with her toes and feet, spreading the cream over the coarse skin on her soles. Then running her hands up her ankles, massaging the little soft spot on the inside leg at the ankle bone. She rubbed lotion into her calves, feeling the muscles tense as she ran her hands up and down. Flat palmed, she cupped her knees and moisturised the skin there so that it was tender and soft. She stood up to coat her thighs and her buttocks, running her hands into her own arse and then feeling the small dimples on each buttock cheek. Then she sat again to coat her breasts and arms, playing with herself so that she was oiled all over and smooth. Finally, heady with the smell of the candle and the lotion, she lay back and started to play.
This was the contrast she ached for. The roughness of sex with a stranger spun a web around her head. She remembered his every move as she played with herself, teasing her clit, tweaking it, watching it engorge. She felt his cock in her cunt as she inserted a finger oh so gently and reached inside herself to find her soft g-spot. She rubbed gently, feeling herself moistening and trembling. And she came in waves, shuddering and sighing so that she had to curl up, her hand still cupping her cunt, her finger still inside her, feeling the contractions of her orgasm.
And then she slept.
She had deliberately avoided speaking to him. All their arrangements had been made by email. She had a description of him but no picture. She had avoided trying to visualise him. She wanted that anticipation, that fear, that knowledge that whatever he looked like,he would fuck her. Like russian roulette. He might turn out to be too old, too grey and too withered for her to actually desire him. He might be fat or have a beard. He might smell (although her remedy for that was to suggest a joint shower before they had sex). He might cum too quickly or he might not be able to get an erection at all. However it turned out she would be satisfied. She knew she wouldn’t cum from his penetration, that was not the point at all. Her satisfaction came later, when he had left and she reflected on her action and ached from his attention but knew she would never see him again.
Anyone who knew her as a friend or a work colleague would have been astonished that she allowed a stranger into her home in that way, but she had her own way of providing herself with security. For a start, he didn’t know that it was her home. She’d told him she was house-sitting for friends and that she would be alone for tonight only. And, she had set herself a supper date with a girlfriend for a couple of hours after their appointment. But, it was important for her to keep some element of risk there.
She sat in her living room at the piano looking out of the window at the grey street. She could see clearly into the flats opposite, microcosms of other world. She wondered how the occupants lived and what went on behind their closed doors. She also wondered if they noticed the strangers at her door. She was vaguely excited at the idea that they might think she was a prostitute. She imagined knowing glances in her direction when she walked down the street. She fantasised about them sitting curled up together on the sofa trying to work out what she did. At times she would deliberately dress up and walk out in a too tight dress, high heels and sunglasses. At other times she’d leave the blinds open and the lights on and dance in her stripper outfit.
She constantly questioned herself. Was there something wrong with her? Much to the disappointment of her mother, she’d never married, there were no children and no husband to cook and clean for. And although she was curious to find a rationale for her own behaviour she wasn’t in the least bit perturbed by it or by her lack of conventionality. This suited her, excited her, motivated her and made her feel desired.
There was about an hour to kill before he was due to arrive. She’d removed all traces of her personal affairs…no papers or letters left lying around. The study door was closed. The bedroom she intended using was pristine. Clean sheets and a fresh bedcover, no clothes left unfolded on chairs, nothing personal at all other than a picture of her own mother as a small girl. She’d removed the picture of herself from the mantelpiece in the living room and put out a bottle of wine and two glasses. She flustered a bit around the place wiping away any traces of dust, anything that might make the flat feel lived in. She liked the idea that he would see it as a hotel room, a borrowed space, anonymous and impersonal. She didn’t want comments about her taste in bed linen or her choice of furniture. To all intents and purposes she wanted to stay a stranger to him…a hole to fuck, a moment in time of physical connection that would pass and be unrepeated.
She tried to read, but her mind was wandering. She went to the bathroom, washed herself again…scrubbed her cunt and then oiled it with a lubricant so that however he chose to take her she would be ready. In fact she was moist with anticipation and the lubricant was cosmetic. But, it was reassuring all the same and it meant that the actual act would be quick.
She looked again at her outfit. She was dressed as he had requested. It was an easy request to fulfil. He wanted her cunt smooth and bare, He’d asked for her to dress in a short skirt so that if she bent over he could see her lips. He wanted a slightly sheer blouse, tight fitting so that her nipples showed through but no bra. He wanted her to wear hold-ups and heels…to make up so that she looked like a tart. He wanted her jewellery to be cheap and tawdry and her hairstyle to be ever-so-slightly overdone. His perfect woman was, in fact, a tart.
She started to wonder a bit about him and then deliberately and pointedly moved her mind elsewhere and started to write the shopping list for tomorrow’s dinner party. She knew from experience that if she allowed herself to visualise or picture him the reality would disappoint. Whether he was in principle better or worse than she had imagined the dynamic would be lost.
And so she waited patiently, aroused and needy.
At precisely three minutes past the appointed time the doorbell rang and she went to greet her guest. Her head was lowered as she opened the door so that her line of sight was directed to his waist. He was wearing a conventional suit. City pinstripe. There was a faint smell of quality cologne. She could see his excitement…he was anticipatory. She held the door open for him and waited until he had walked through. The rule, her rule was that he wouldn’t speak until after he had undressed her and taken what he wanted. And so they sat in silence on her sofa, side by side drinking a glass of wine. Her body trembled and ached for his touch but she had written to him that she would not touch him until he touched her, that he could do as he pleased but it was to be silent and his instruction was to be physical rather than verbal.
As she sipped her wine she could feel his eyes on her breasts. Her nipples taught and erect beneath the fine silk chiffon of her blouse. He lent over and put his hand inside her blouse, cupped her breast and pinched hard on the nipple so that tears came to her eyes. He stood up and bent over her so that his face was close to her cleavage. He put his hands on her waist and gently pulled her up so that she was standing a few inches from him. Then he stepped back and motioned to her to turn. She spun slowly round on the tips of her toes, the back of her legs tensed from the heels she was wearing. She could feel his eyes checking her arse, running up and down her legs. She looked him in the eye and started to walk towards the door. He followed her. Up the stairs, her heels tapping, tapping on the wood, his silence following her arse
Upstairs he pushed her onto the bed and with both hands pulled her skirt up and opened her legs. He smiled. He could see her moistness. He picked up the toy she had left for him by the side of the bed and turned it on. He pushed her back on the bed so her legs were bent up and her cunt exposed and he pushed the toy hard onto her clit. She wanted to moan as he moved the toy into her and pressed it hard against her g-spot. She closed her eyes and as she did heard the sound of him undressing. She didn’t want to see his cock. She didn’t want to know who or what was taking her. Just to feel the comfort of a stranger.
And then she felt him. His hands holding her arms down, the weight of his chest on her still clothed breasts and his cock pushing into her hard. He stopped. Pulled out. He grabbed her, pulled her blouse over her head and turned her over so she was crouched on the bed with her head down. And then she felt him again, pushing into her, taking her.
For her, it was uneventful. He took her. He came gasping and moaning…and then lay back on the bed with her and put his arm around her and thanked her.
He washed, he dressed and he left.
She stripped and put on her silk dressing gown. Removed the sordid remnants of his play and opened the bedroom window. She walked downstairs and started the bath running, lacing it with coconut and almond bath foam. She ran the water hot, so hot that she knew it would scald when she got in.
While she was running the bath, she made tea. Sweet and smokey lapsang souchong. No milk. She made the tea in a small china pot and poured it into a porcelain mug. The clear brown liquid hit the back of her throat, the scent filled her nostrils. She walked back to the bathroom and disrobed. She put the tea on the side of the bath and stepped gingerly in to the foamy, steaming water. She lay back. The water covered her almost completely to the neck. Just her toes and nipples peeked through the foam. She looked down on her enrobed body and then relaxed back, closing her eyes. Various scents drifted through the room. She lay in silence, no music, no noise from outside. She relaxed.
She played gently with her nipples, tweaking them and splashing them with warm water. She massaged her breasts and covered them with foam. She washed her cunt. She pushed her head back under the water and covered her hair, then washed it with shampoo and rinsed it with the showerspray so that it lay flat and wet against her head. Then, she stood up and got out of the bath and wrapped herself up in the warm towels she’d left out on the rail.
She went into the back bedroom. This was her space. No one except her ever used this room, it was sacrosanct. She lit a candle and while the scent of lavender filled the room she dried her hair. Then, she sat naked on her bed and covered herself with body lotion. Starting with her toes and feet, spreading the cream over the coarse skin on her soles. Then running her hands up her ankles, massaging the little soft spot on the inside leg at the ankle bone. She rubbed lotion into her calves, feeling the muscles tense as she ran her hands up and down. Flat palmed, she cupped her knees and moisturised the skin there so that it was tender and soft. She stood up to coat her thighs and her buttocks, running her hands into her own arse and then feeling the small dimples on each buttock cheek. Then she sat again to coat her breasts and arms, playing with herself so that she was oiled all over and smooth. Finally, heady with the smell of the candle and the lotion, she lay back and started to play.
This was the contrast she ached for. The roughness of sex with a stranger spun a web around her head. She remembered his every move as she played with herself, teasing her clit, tweaking it, watching it engorge. She felt his cock in her cunt as she inserted a finger oh so gently and reached inside herself to find her soft g-spot. She rubbed gently, feeling herself moistening and trembling. And she came in waves, shuddering and sighing so that she had to curl up, her hand still cupping her cunt, her finger still inside her, feeling the contractions of her orgasm.
And then she slept.
Imagination
You have bound this girl
With invisible hemp
Knotted around her breasts and cunt
Hold me
Every move she makes
A knot reminds her
Every breath the rough hemp bites
Hold me
You have beaten this girl
her white arse smarts
With white on white welts
Mark me
In the magic mind mirror
This girl stares and sees
Your handiwork reminding her
Mark me
You have taken her
she orgasms to your
Virtual touch and feels you
Fuck me
And beyond
she hesitates to dream
And dares imagine but
Not write
With invisible hemp
Knotted around her breasts and cunt
Hold me
Every move she makes
A knot reminds her
Every breath the rough hemp bites
Hold me
You have beaten this girl
her white arse smarts
With white on white welts
Mark me
In the magic mind mirror
This girl stares and sees
Your handiwork reminding her
Mark me
You have taken her
she orgasms to your
Virtual touch and feels you
Fuck me
And beyond
she hesitates to dream
And dares imagine but
Not write
Monday, 3 December 2007
Desire
At your word
she will kneel naked before you
Balasana – like a child
Vulnerable, Yours to take
she aches, an indescribable hollow ache
Somewhere beyond her bowels
she desires but
Only starts to
Paint this picture with
her words
Beat the passion
Bind the storm
Torment the woman
Protect and nurture the child
Beat the passion
It will bear crops like well ploughed soil, to feed Your hunger
Bind the storm, the sun will shine and warm Your soul
Torment the woman, see her tears of tenderness and love
Protect and nurture the child
Watch her flourish and grown
At your word
she will kneel naked before you
Balasana – like a child
Vulnerable, Yours to take
she will kneel naked before you
Balasana – like a child
Vulnerable, Yours to take
she aches, an indescribable hollow ache
Somewhere beyond her bowels
she desires but
Only starts to
Paint this picture with
her words
Beat the passion
Bind the storm
Torment the woman
Protect and nurture the child
Beat the passion
It will bear crops like well ploughed soil, to feed Your hunger
Bind the storm, the sun will shine and warm Your soul
Torment the woman, see her tears of tenderness and love
Protect and nurture the child
Watch her flourish and grown
At your word
she will kneel naked before you
Balasana – like a child
Vulnerable, Yours to take
Tuesday, 18 September 2007
How did I get here?
The first of these posts (in February) was my introduction to D/s and BDSM. Informal and unrequested by me. Fluffy was the name I chose for myself at that point in time. Pain-slut was His addition.
The poems which follow to this point were written for a Master (not the person in the first prose writing). They give some indication of the intensity of feeling which D/s can awaken in me.
Enough said.
The poems which follow to this point were written for a Master (not the person in the first prose writing). They give some indication of the intensity of feeling which D/s can awaken in me.
Enough said.
Friday, 24 August 2007
Ivy
Dark leaved ivy
Where planted it has grown
Bound to You
The first shoots fastened with pink
Tied like a baby to a mother’s breast
Fastened, trained, teased, tormented to follow
Your will
Through the summer coaxed by sunshine
Quenched by rain
It grew too quickly, spread and covered, cloaked
Your direction
And you, the gardener tied me back again
With yellow plastic
The youngest, softest leaves held
To enjoy the last of summer sun
So we could play
Now in preparation
For harsh winter
Prune me ruthlessly
Let your sharpest knife slice away
Remove the youngest, frailest shoots
Remove the old
Remove the misplace growth, the rampant waste
I feel you cutting me, I scream
A song of death for the promise of a life to come
Leave me small but whole
Rooted firmly by your side
Tidy, quiet, neat and strong
When winter snows cover the ground my roots will run
Deeper into the rich soil finding sustenance
I wind them round yours in the dark brown earth
Hidden from sight but growing stronger
Drawing comfort from your presence though I cannot see
At the first sign of spring
I grow and bind myself, enslave myself to you
Stronger now, rooted and firm
My mind and spirit trained to grow as you taught
My body wrapping yours in rich embrace
Bound to you without the need for ties.
Where planted it has grown
Bound to You
The first shoots fastened with pink
Tied like a baby to a mother’s breast
Fastened, trained, teased, tormented to follow
Your will
Through the summer coaxed by sunshine
Quenched by rain
It grew too quickly, spread and covered, cloaked
Your direction
And you, the gardener tied me back again
With yellow plastic
The youngest, softest leaves held
To enjoy the last of summer sun
So we could play
Now in preparation
For harsh winter
Prune me ruthlessly
Let your sharpest knife slice away
Remove the youngest, frailest shoots
Remove the old
Remove the misplace growth, the rampant waste
I feel you cutting me, I scream
A song of death for the promise of a life to come
Leave me small but whole
Rooted firmly by your side
Tidy, quiet, neat and strong
When winter snows cover the ground my roots will run
Deeper into the rich soil finding sustenance
I wind them round yours in the dark brown earth
Hidden from sight but growing stronger
Drawing comfort from your presence though I cannot see
At the first sign of spring
I grow and bind myself, enslave myself to you
Stronger now, rooted and firm
My mind and spirit trained to grow as you taught
My body wrapping yours in rich embrace
Bound to you without the need for ties.
Friday, 17 August 2007
Chattel
In the half light of the evening
It moves, draws your eye,
Hidden under rubbish, lost
A time ago
Stop, look closely.
It lives and breathes.
Take it in your hand and
Feel, explore the shape, the softness.
Pinch it, make it respond to your gentle touch,
To your firm command.
Take it.
Undress it, wash it,
Anoint it with oils and lotions
Let it sleep for a while between clean sheets.
Dreams carry the truth into day
Morning bathes the room with sunlight.
She wakes and sees a brave new world.
The mirror shows
A stranger’s face and body.
She weeps in ecstasy, she cannot bear to see the sun,
She fears like Semele to burn to ash.
Help her find herself.
Be cruel, take her beyond the point where
She would rest comfortably
Wrapped in existing self knowledge.
Show her the darkness of her soul
And find her light
Give her tasks
For you?
Correct her when she fails.
She is precious, valued
And willingly enslaved, bound and
Owned
Watch her grow, bound to you by virtual chains,
Stronger than the finest steel.
Chains that set her free
Torment her, leave her
So she aches and pleads for mercy,
For your care.
Return,
She will learn that you were always there.
She is yours, your chattel and your willing slave
Your work has bound you now
You are her Master
Her future under your control.
It moves, draws your eye,
Hidden under rubbish, lost
A time ago
Stop, look closely.
It lives and breathes.
Take it in your hand and
Feel, explore the shape, the softness.
Pinch it, make it respond to your gentle touch,
To your firm command.
Take it.
Undress it, wash it,
Anoint it with oils and lotions
Let it sleep for a while between clean sheets.
Dreams carry the truth into day
Morning bathes the room with sunlight.
She wakes and sees a brave new world.
The mirror shows
A stranger’s face and body.
She weeps in ecstasy, she cannot bear to see the sun,
She fears like Semele to burn to ash.
Help her find herself.
Be cruel, take her beyond the point where
She would rest comfortably
Wrapped in existing self knowledge.
Show her the darkness of her soul
And find her light
Give her tasks
For you?
Correct her when she fails.
She is precious, valued
And willingly enslaved, bound and
Owned
Watch her grow, bound to you by virtual chains,
Stronger than the finest steel.
Chains that set her free
Torment her, leave her
So she aches and pleads for mercy,
For your care.
Return,
She will learn that you were always there.
She is yours, your chattel and your willing slave
Your work has bound you now
You are her Master
Her future under your control.
Monday, 9 July 2007
The Katana
I am cold steel forged by your intent
Your hammering, your shaping creates the sunobe.
My future strength determined by
Your work
You chose this block of steel
And so, the child of Scottish warriors becomes
A fighting blade
Do you see irregularities and flaws
In the pre-form you have made?
If so, then chose again and know
Not the steel, the man who forges
Makes the fault.
You hammered, beat and shaped me to this form
Look on and judge
Discard me now if fatal fault is what you see
Chose to continue,
Beat me through and through.
Apply the force with skill
So I do not twist and
Am not formed with hidden fractures
To fail You at a time of need.
Heat me, normalise me to your design,
Make me tough and fine
Heat me and I change in structure
But my composition remains
Finish basic forging,
Make your sword,
Coat me in clay
Keep my soft back from breaking,
Let it stay resililiant to accept the hardest blows
Heat me again harden my edge to sharpen to a deadly blade
But, heat me too much and I will crack
Quench me, as I harden
I bow in reverence to your skill and to prove
My future strength
Finally decorate me – show your artistry
My outer beauty reflects your skill
Use me – do not let me be for show
Hold me with you always for you made me so.
Your hammering, your shaping creates the sunobe.
My future strength determined by
Your work
You chose this block of steel
And so, the child of Scottish warriors becomes
A fighting blade
Do you see irregularities and flaws
In the pre-form you have made?
If so, then chose again and know
Not the steel, the man who forges
Makes the fault.
You hammered, beat and shaped me to this form
Look on and judge
Discard me now if fatal fault is what you see
Chose to continue,
Beat me through and through.
Apply the force with skill
So I do not twist and
Am not formed with hidden fractures
To fail You at a time of need.
Heat me, normalise me to your design,
Make me tough and fine
Heat me and I change in structure
But my composition remains
Finish basic forging,
Make your sword,
Coat me in clay
Keep my soft back from breaking,
Let it stay resililiant to accept the hardest blows
Heat me again harden my edge to sharpen to a deadly blade
But, heat me too much and I will crack
Quench me, as I harden
I bow in reverence to your skill and to prove
My future strength
Finally decorate me – show your artistry
My outer beauty reflects your skill
Use me – do not let me be for show
Hold me with you always for you made me so.
Friday, 4 May 2007
The Master
White paper, cold and stiff
Black dots numbered, ordered in a form
A broken outline.
Take a hard, fine pencil
Sharpen it to your desire
Join each dot
Each one a point in her past time,
A moment or a lifetime in this girl’s heart and mind
Pause – consider every point
Completed you have something now of her
Face and body
Blank and two dimensional.
Colour her in
Take Your finest paints, Your crayons, Your pastels
Shade her with charcoal greys
Make her Yours
Express Yourself
Your canvas, Yours to shape and mould
Her whiteness Yours to make Your own
Colour her eyes in blue, green, pink or purple
Make Your choice and let her see
Tint her lips
I cry, moan, laugh and smile for You
Paint her cunt, arse, breasts and hair
Colour her in what ever way You will
Your skill, Your artistry, Your imagination
Make her whole
Give life to me – a new dimension
All that is left
Is to pick up the strings
You, the artist
Puppet Master now
She is Yours in three dimensions,
You find
Her shaky step and broken bows
Her eating, breathing, fucking, resting and her dreams
Controlled by You
Your skill, Your artistry, Your imagination
Hold her precious
Look and see – Yourself in colour burnt in me.
Black dots numbered, ordered in a form
A broken outline.
Take a hard, fine pencil
Sharpen it to your desire
Join each dot
Each one a point in her past time,
A moment or a lifetime in this girl’s heart and mind
Pause – consider every point
Completed you have something now of her
Face and body
Blank and two dimensional.
Colour her in
Take Your finest paints, Your crayons, Your pastels
Shade her with charcoal greys
Make her Yours
Express Yourself
Your canvas, Yours to shape and mould
Her whiteness Yours to make Your own
Colour her eyes in blue, green, pink or purple
Make Your choice and let her see
Tint her lips
I cry, moan, laugh and smile for You
Paint her cunt, arse, breasts and hair
Colour her in what ever way You will
Your skill, Your artistry, Your imagination
Make her whole
Give life to me – a new dimension
All that is left
Is to pick up the strings
You, the artist
Puppet Master now
She is Yours in three dimensions,
You find
Her shaky step and broken bows
Her eating, breathing, fucking, resting and her dreams
Controlled by You
Your skill, Your artistry, Your imagination
Hold her precious
Look and see – Yourself in colour burnt in me.
Thursday, 15 February 2007
Why?
It started when you told me to sit under the table while you ate and give you a bj. I was aware I wasn’t making a good job of it. And, although I wasn’t really hungry when you started eating, I could smell the fish and the onion chutney and I had not eaten a heavy supper. So, I was already feeling slightly spaced out. You were talking about things that were rather far from my own experience. Had I ever been to a dinner with other subs and their Doms? Well, of course not. I think you were talking about your own experiences and what you had been doing since the last time I saw you. So, I was hungry, spacey and slightly aroused…I like giving you a bj and I was rather amused at the idea that you might like me under the table doing it while you ate. I had a weird picture of a dinner like a Peter Greenaway film still.
Then you told me to strip. Well, you had told me to wear nice underwear and I was pleased that I’d at least tried. What I expected next was for you to tie me or blindfold me. I really didn’t anticipate any ‘pain’ related activities. Yes I am a little gullible. So the spanking was a shock. But it tingled rather than hurt at least to start, so I didn’t make any effort to stop you. I was surprised that the cane was so small…and I actually didn’t think you’d try to use it on me. See how trusting (?stupid) I am.
The cane hurt. I wasn’t going to make a noise or cry if I could help it though because it was something of a matter of pride to me that I didn’t. I can remember feeling very turned on, but I didn’t particularly want to be fucked at that stage. I was curious how much you would do/how far you would go. At this stage I was, I think, in a state of shock. I am slightly scared of you. Most of the men I know are physically strong, but not so strong that I can’t hurt them a bit. I’m not sure I could stop you if I wanted to. And, you are not stupid. I can’t get round you by out arguing you (apart, perhaps, on marketing issues – and since you don’t believe in marketing that is a bit of a lost cause!)
I think you put the blindfold on then. I can remember feeling my arse and wondering what it looked like. The spanking was almost pleasant…like a sort of massage. The caning was like a cut across the pleasantness – a reminder that you could do whatever you wanted. I can’t remember whether you put the clothes pegs on my nipples then or waited till you had tried to take me outside. I think before. Of all the things you did, that was the most painful. It was also the least pretty. I had a vision (wrong) that my arse had patterns from your caning. The spanking and caning were controlled and calculated or so it felt, in as much as I was aware of what was happening. You seemed to know what the effect would be on me. The clothes pegs seemed a bit clumsy…and I could peep under the blindfold (and did). I remember thinking they looked silly. And they hurt when you pulled them off.
I really did think you were planning to go out on the balcony. And that was a little exciting. I do have slight exhibitionist tendencies, though I have to be encouraged to misbehave. I’d PROBABLY have objected if I’d thought you were really going outside through the front door. I do have to live here. Anyway you didn’t.
I don’t remember much of the love making. I do remember being very wet before we started and I do remember being aware that I was too excited to cum. There’s a certain point beyond which I plateau. At that point I won’t cum until hours later, when I can usually do so just by thinking about what has put me there (I lie in bed next to you snoring and orgasm all by myself…no hands!). In itself it is special. I also remember enjoying the bj. It was erotic in its own right. I love watching you cum because of the intensity of your orgasms.
Throughout the night I could feel you next to me. I think you slept first and I can remember dozing on and off. At some point I woke up and could feel my arse tingling and my nipples hard and sore (the after effect was rather better than the action, if that makes sense). I did at that point cum. Then I slept again. I can remember giving you a bj the next morning. You do have the nicest cock in the world to play with.
Then you told me to strip. Well, you had told me to wear nice underwear and I was pleased that I’d at least tried. What I expected next was for you to tie me or blindfold me. I really didn’t anticipate any ‘pain’ related activities. Yes I am a little gullible. So the spanking was a shock. But it tingled rather than hurt at least to start, so I didn’t make any effort to stop you. I was surprised that the cane was so small…and I actually didn’t think you’d try to use it on me. See how trusting (?stupid) I am.
The cane hurt. I wasn’t going to make a noise or cry if I could help it though because it was something of a matter of pride to me that I didn’t. I can remember feeling very turned on, but I didn’t particularly want to be fucked at that stage. I was curious how much you would do/how far you would go. At this stage I was, I think, in a state of shock. I am slightly scared of you. Most of the men I know are physically strong, but not so strong that I can’t hurt them a bit. I’m not sure I could stop you if I wanted to. And, you are not stupid. I can’t get round you by out arguing you (apart, perhaps, on marketing issues – and since you don’t believe in marketing that is a bit of a lost cause!)
I think you put the blindfold on then. I can remember feeling my arse and wondering what it looked like. The spanking was almost pleasant…like a sort of massage. The caning was like a cut across the pleasantness – a reminder that you could do whatever you wanted. I can’t remember whether you put the clothes pegs on my nipples then or waited till you had tried to take me outside. I think before. Of all the things you did, that was the most painful. It was also the least pretty. I had a vision (wrong) that my arse had patterns from your caning. The spanking and caning were controlled and calculated or so it felt, in as much as I was aware of what was happening. You seemed to know what the effect would be on me. The clothes pegs seemed a bit clumsy…and I could peep under the blindfold (and did). I remember thinking they looked silly. And they hurt when you pulled them off.
I really did think you were planning to go out on the balcony. And that was a little exciting. I do have slight exhibitionist tendencies, though I have to be encouraged to misbehave. I’d PROBABLY have objected if I’d thought you were really going outside through the front door. I do have to live here. Anyway you didn’t.
I don’t remember much of the love making. I do remember being very wet before we started and I do remember being aware that I was too excited to cum. There’s a certain point beyond which I plateau. At that point I won’t cum until hours later, when I can usually do so just by thinking about what has put me there (I lie in bed next to you snoring and orgasm all by myself…no hands!). In itself it is special. I also remember enjoying the bj. It was erotic in its own right. I love watching you cum because of the intensity of your orgasms.
Throughout the night I could feel you next to me. I think you slept first and I can remember dozing on and off. At some point I woke up and could feel my arse tingling and my nipples hard and sore (the after effect was rather better than the action, if that makes sense). I did at that point cum. Then I slept again. I can remember giving you a bj the next morning. You do have the nicest cock in the world to play with.
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